Reciprocation
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: After the hairpin fiasco, Marian Paroo Hill continues to realize just how much she truly loves her husband. The counterpoint to Wherever a Snowball Hit.


_As Harold's lips left a trail of soft kisses from the tip of her ear to the nape of her neck, Marian felt the final remnants of her resolve melt away. With a blissful sigh, she settled into his arms. Tightening his hold around her waist, Harold put two fingers under Marian's chin and tilted her head back so he could meet her mouth with his. As their kiss deepened, Harold's hand slowly migrated to the back of her head. With his usual dexterity, he slid a hairpin out of her chignon – and then another, and then another._

_Marian was so wrapped up in their kiss she didn't realize what was happening until she felt a hank of hair cascading down the back of her neck. She pulled away from her husband with a gasp. "Harold, what are you doing?"_

"_It's all right, darling," he assured her. Bringing his left hand into view, he revealed three hairpins tucked snugly in his grasp. "See? I've been holding on to them the entire time."_

_But as Harold said this, the pins slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. "Oops! Forgive me, darling," he said contritely, bending over to retrieve what he had dropped._

"_Oh, I knew this was going to happen!" Marian exclaimed, exasperated. She knelt down to help him. "We've already contaminated the parlor with our lovemaking; must you bring it into the kitchen, as well?"_

"_Madam Librarian, it is my intention to make love to you in every room of this house," he said with an unabashed grin._

_Even in her annoyance, Marian couldn't resist engaging in her usual banter with him. "Even the attic?"_

_He chuckled. "Especially the attic."_

"_Well, I suppose that's one place stray hairpins won't cause a scandal," she said sardonically, still scanning the floor. They had managed to locate two of the pins, but the third one was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, Marian abandoned her search._

_Harold helped her to her feet. "You know, you could just let your hair down _before_ I come home," he suggested._

"_Yes – that's one solution," Marian said tersely._

_In an instant, Harold had taken her by the arms and was standing face to face with her. "And what's the other?" he asked, his good humor gone._

XXX

Even though Harold was now dozing peacefully beside her, a contented smile on his face as he slept, Marian couldn't help remembering with guilty dismay their earlier conversation in the kitchen. After all Harold had done for her, how could she have been so thoughtlessly cruel? He loved her passionately and wholeheartedly, and she had asked him to restrain his feelings – to stifle his true ardor – to avoid committing the most insignificant of lapses. In the larger scheme of things, did it really matter if Mrs. Shinn and the other ladies looked askance at her because of a few stray hairpins? The Herculean and most likely futile efforts required to avoid their scandalized disapproval certainly weren't worth hurting the man she loved more than anyone else in the world. And Harold _had_ been hurt by her request – Marian's heart ached to recall the wounded look in her husband's eyes as he waited, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, for her to explain herself.

But, she admitted, it wasn't really her husband's passion that terrified her. It was her own ardor she struggled with – ardor that seemed to grow stronger every day, every time her husband took her in his arms. As much as it thrilled Marian and filled her heart with fierce joy, to know how deeply she loved and was loved in return, she feared she and Harold were too passionate. Literature and history were full of couples who loved too intensely and suffered dearly for it – Romeo and Juliet, Guinevere and Lancelot, Abélard and Héloïse, Tristan and Isolde, to name a few.

And it didn't help matters that Marian's dreams concerning Harold had grown quite lurid of late. Sometimes she would glance at her husband and the tiniest of his responses set her off – a roguish smile aimed in her direction, a yearning gleam in his eye – and her stomach would twist into knots as she contemplated all the ways she could broaden that smile and deepen the longing in those eyes. And this evening, Marian had begun to give in to a few of those secret desires she'd been harboring for the past few months. As soon as the bedroom door had closed behind them, she took an unusually active role: kissing her husband deeply and passionately, undressing him without preamble, running her hands over as much of his naked body as she dared, straddling him and driving the pace of their lovemaking. As if that wasn't brazen enough, there was still more Marian wanted to do – especially when she saw her husband's face as she boldly took the lead. The entire time they made love, Harold gazed at her with tender awe and elated desire; he looked like a man whose dreams had come true. Instead of sating Marian, his reaction only inflamed her desire.

In the course of her musings, Marian realized Harold's eyes were now open and he was gazing intently at her, as if he would see into the depths of her soul. She would have blushed, but her cheeks were already crimson. Eager to break the silence and divert his attention, Marian spoke the first words that rose to the tip of her tongue.

"A penny for your thoughts, darling."

Immediately, Marian winced – she had given him an opening into the exact conversation she was attempting to avoid. When Harold paused for a moment, clearly giving careful consideration to her question, she anxiously wondered what he was going to say.

But in the end, her husband merely grinned and planted an affectionate kiss on her flushed cheek. "I was thinking how good a bowl of that stew would be, right about now."

Her apprehension receding to the back of her mind for the time being, Marian beamed at Harold. "I should have known," she teased.

XXX

Thanks to Harold's earlier foresight in covering the pot before they retired, the stew was still fairly warm. Once Marian had dished out two plates, her husband took them and led the way into their dining room. For a moment, she was surprised he had not escorted her into the parlor, but when he turned and winked at her, she realized it no longer mattered what room they ate in – especially given their present state of undress.

Even though it was still rather early in the evening, Marian had not bothered to arrange her long blonde hair into her usual chignon, instead electing to pin a few strands back so her curls wouldn't fall into her face. Indeed, she and Harold were shockingly informal; he was clad only in a forest-green bathrobe and she wore a pale-blue dressing gown. Undoubtedly, Mrs. Shinn and her ladies would be scandalized by their audacity to wear such attire at the dinner table. But as husband and wife ate in companionable silence, the only sounds being the howling of the wind outside, the creaks of the house settling and the cheerful hum of the radiators, Marian felt like she and Harold were alone in the world – gloriously alone; a world unto themselves.

Banishing all thoughts of other people from her mind, Marian gazed at her husband with unconcealed adoration. He was wonderful to look at: His disheveled locks and elegant velour bathrobe, which was casually draped over his long, lean frame, gave him a deliciously attractive, devil-may-care appearance that made her weak in the knees. And she was quite aware that she must have been delightfully tousled as well, as evidenced by the longing looks Harold was giving her in return.

Marian's heart began to pound and her stomach started to flip-flop as those lurid dreams rushed through her mind once more.

XXX

Normally, Harold dried the dishes after Marian washed them, but tonight he simply wrapped his arms around her waist and held her, burying his face in her hair and nuzzling her neck as she completed her task. His ministrations hindered her efficiency somewhat, but Marian wasn't too concerned about that at the moment. As long as she lived, she would never tire of her husband's caresses. And she hoped he would never tire of hers.

Again, Marian remembered what happened during their last embrace in the kitchen – the things she had said and Harold's anguished reaction. She couldn't help wondering if her husband recalled these events, too; he was holding her not with his usual confidence and fervor, but with the careful, tentative air of a man who feared losing something precious and irreplaceable. As Marian realized this, she stopped leaning back into Harold's embrace, and grew still in his arms.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn't realize how distant she had become until Harold paused and asked in a concerned voice, "Marian, is everything all right?"

The remaining dishes forgotten, Marian turned and threw her arms around her husband. At first, Harold teetered a bit as she knocked him off balance, but he soon steadied and tightened his embrace around her as well.

"I know I'm being absurd, darling," she said in a low voice, her mouth next to his ear, "but sometimes I can't quite believe this is real, that you're not simply an imaginary white knight I conjured out of thin air. Sometimes I can't help thinking our courtship and marriage is all just a wonderful dream, and I'm going to wake up alone in the narrow bed of my old room at Mama's house. I even pinch myself on occasion, just to see if I'm awake."

"Oh, my dear little librarian," Harold sighed sympathetically, his breath warm against her neck, "sometimes I wonder if my life with you in River City is merely some fancy I invented on a particularly lonely train ride; that any time now the conductor is going to announce we've arrived to the next destination, and the train will let out a piercing whistle, jolting me back into the cold solitude of the conman's existence."

For a moment, Marian was stunned; she had been expecting her husband to chuckle at her foolishness, and to respond with his usual confident assurances that he was real, that this was real. It wasn't like Harold to engage in gloomy flights of fancy along with her. The hairpin incident must have shaken him indeed, for him to behave this way. Marian chided herself for her selfishness; how could she expect Harold to comfort her when he was clearly in need of comfort himself? Previously, her usual course of action in these situations – which tended to occur mainly after Harold finished confessing reprehensible deeds he committed in the past – had been to pull her beloved close and whisper tender reminders of her love for him. But Marian knew words weren't going to be enough this time. Not when she had been the one to wound him. The only way she could undo the damage she had caused was to show him just how much she loved him – just as he had demonstrated his love for her.

Saying nothing, Marian began to stroke Harold's shoulders, moving her hands down his back in a firm, soothing caress. Yet even as he sighed and relaxed into her arms, uncertainty plagued her, and she had to ask – even though she knew what his answer would be. "How would you like me to love you, Harold?" she whispered.

True to form, he replied, "Marian, the way you love me now is absolutely perfect."

At this reminder of the futility of words, Marian silently stroked her way further down Harold's back. When she reached his hips, she changed direction, trailing her fingers across his abdomen in slow, gentle caresses. As he let out several deep, contented sighs, she began to meander her way further downward. Though she still hadn't ventured beneath the fabric of his robe, Harold's breath caught in his throat when her hands finally reached their destination, and his body went rigid.

"Marian," he protested – though he made no move to stop her. "You don't have to – "

Marian stopped his mouth with a gentle kiss. "I want to, Harold," she earnestly assured him.

As she spoke, she slid her hands behind his robe and continued her ministrations. Harold let out a strangled groan and tightened his grip around her waist. "Marian," he said again – this time an eager entreaty for her to keep going.

Leaning in, Marian pressed her lips against the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, and was rewarded with a shiver and a sigh. As Harold began to nibble at her neck in return, she pulled away and gave him a coy smile. "Shall we continue this conversation upstairs, Professor Hill?"

Even in his dazed reverie, Harold had a ready response. "Madam Librarian, I would be delighted to discuss anything in the world with you," he said with a grin.

But as she led the way to their bedroom, he gazed at her with incredulous eyes, as if he couldn't believe this was truly happening. Marian was amazed, herself; she would never have imagined she was capable of performing the act she was about to engage in. And not only performing it, but looking forward to the opportunity! After two months of marriage, she was experienced enough to realize Harold had received such erotic attentions from other women, women who were far more knowledgeable about how to please a man than she would ever be. She should have been trembling with uncertainty.

But as Marian walked up the stairs and down the hall, she was anything but uncertain. Nervous, perhaps – but from excitement, not apprehension. Even after she closed their bedroom door and turned to see her husband watching her with an avid, expectant smile – a sight she normally would have found intimidating in such circumstances – Marian didn't falter. She may not have been the sadder-but-wiser girl, but she knew how to please her husband.

She started slow, teasing and tickling the sensitive spots on Harold's neck and behind his ear with her lips and tongue, pressing harder with her mouth until his gentle chuckling turned into heated moans. Placing her hands on her husband's shoulders, Marian stroked her way down the front of his body. As her hands moved over his chest, she felt his heart hammering wildly, which caused her own heart to beat faster in return.

Though Harold was never one to be passive in lovemaking, tonight he stood still and let her caress him. But when Marian began to untie the sash of his robe – brushing his groin with her fingers as she did so – Harold reached the limits of his restraint. Letting out an impassioned groan, he feverishly grasped her hips and started to pull her closer. Summoning her quick reflexes, she took a step back and gracefully extricated herself from his embrace, pulling his robe open as she did so.

"Patience is a virtue, Professor Hill," Marian admonished with a sly smile as she let go of the now-untied sash.

Harold gave her a mischievous grin in return. "Just trying to get a word in edgewise every now and then, Madam Librarian," he said, his breathing uneven. But he subsided, and let her finish removing his robe.

Once they were lying together on the bed, Marian turned her attention to the other sensitive areas on her husband's body. She started with the brand mark on his shoulder and tenderly bestowed affection on each of his scars, working her way down to the barbed-wire marks on his thighs – a gesture she knew would not be lost on Harold. Indeed, when she glanced at him to gauge his reaction, she saw him gazing at her with fierce affection. As Marian paused in her caresses to look longingly at him in return, his expression turned smoldering and ardor blazed in his eyes. Yet he made no move toward her; he looked like he didn't dare move, lest he wake up from a dream.

Resisting the urge to straddle Harold and cover his mouth with breathless kisses, Marian tossed her hair over one shoulder and lowered her head to his chest, letting her locks trail over his body in a river of gold as she worked her way down with her lips. When Harold shivered and gasped at her touch, Marian smiled against his bare skin; how wonderful it was to bring him such joy, as he had brought joy to her. For the first time, she knew the sense of satisfaction her husband must have experienced when he loved her this way.

Any lingering misgivings or discomfiture Marian harbored about her brazen actions were drowned out by the intense yearning to increase Harold's pleasure as much as she possibly could. When she finally reached her destination, she showed no maidenly hesitation; her lips gently but avidly explored her husband's most sensitive regions. As Harold's whispered encouragements and endearments faded into wordless moans, Marian progressed to soft, wet kisses, which made him writhe even more furiously beneath her. His hands, which were usually so practiced and expert in their movements, wandered aimlessly over the bed. When she enveloped him with her mouth, they stopped and clutched at the sheets as his entire body stiffened and he let out a heated groan.

For a moment, Marian paused, uncertain. But then Harold called out her name in a hoarse, pleading voice, his hands coming to rest on her head as he did so. Her confidence restored, Marian resumed her tender ministrations, delighting when her husband's fingers feverishly wound through her disheveled blonde locks and he began to move rhythmically with her. At first, she carefully observed Harold's reactions to her caresses, ever alert to maintaining a steady stream of pleasure, but as he groaned and writhed beneath her, stroking her hair and howling her name with abandon, she surrendered to bliss and let it carry her away as well.

When Harold's hands stilled and his body tensed, Marian withdrew to lie next to her husband, gazing at him with pleased adoration as release brought a grin to his face and his groans tapered off into contented sighs. But when Harold's breathing returned to normal and he turned to look at her, his expression was pensive, as if he wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened. Marian's smile faded. She had been expecting her husband to engage in his usual teasing banter or, at the very least, give her a mischievous grin. This uncharacteristic seriousness unnerved her.

Feeling herself flush crimson, Marian turned her face away from Harold's unsettlingly scrutinizing eyes. As she did so, a few strands of hair fell forward – along with something else she couldn't immediately identify. Before she could react, Harold reached over and gently extracted the foreign object from her locks.

It was a hairpin. Marian had forgotten to remove it before engaging in lovemaking with her husband. Once again, she had been careless. As Harold placed the offending pin on the end table, Marian ran her fingers through her hair. But the other pin was nowhere to be found – it must have fallen out long ago.

At this final indignity, the librarian felt tears pricking at her eyes – which she quickly blinked away. "Excuse me," she said tersely, rising from their bed. Walking in a deliberately relaxed gait, as if nothing was the matter – an old trick, indeed – Marian departed to the washroom.

XXX

Even after she had scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth, Marian stayed in washroom, warily eying herself in the mirror. As she recalled the way Harold had looked at her, she felt her insides squirm unpleasantly. Perhaps that wasn't what he wanted, after all. Certainly, he had not turned her down, but he had expressed hesitation at first. Still, he ultimately accepted her advances – more than that, he had pleaded for her to continue her ministrations on more than one occasion. But perhaps he only did so out of base desire, out of the lust she had inflamed in him. After all, a man wasn't likely to refuse such erotic attentions – especially not a man as carnal as Harold.

But now that pleasure no longer overruled rational thought, perhaps he remembered this wasn't what he was looking for in a wife – perhaps Marian's actions were too much of a reminder of the tawdry women in his past. Throughout their courtship and marriage, he had made an adamant distinction between his new life with her and his former existence as a womanizing charlatan. If Harold had wanted her to engage in this act, he probably would have told her, or at least dropped a few hints. After all, he had never been shy about introducing her to the pleasures a man and a woman could share together. But he had never said a word to her about wanting what she just gave him. The more Marian ruminated on the evening's events, the more embarrassed she became over her glaring miscalculation; she didn't see how she could ever face her husband again.

But her good sense soon prevailed, and Marian chided herself for her foolishness. Not matter how ashamed she felt, she certainly couldn't linger in the washroom all night. And she certainly couldn't avoid Harold forever. Marshaling her famous pride, Marian opened the door, determined to return to their bedroom with just as much poise as she had departed.

But her composure fled when she saw her husband standing just outside the washroom. "Harold!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting my turn," he quipped with a smile. Then his expression turned solemn. "My wife has been taking an awfully long time to return to our bed. Much longer than usual, in fact."

Marian heard the questioning note in his voice, but she couldn't speak. Even if her pride allowed her to admit her uncertainty, there wasn't any ladylike way she could express the thoughts whirling in her mind. She desperately wanted reassurance that Harold still found her desirable, that her wantonness had not tarnished his love and regard for her. But she couldn't ask for such comfort; she had been presumptuous enough for one evening.

But it seemed Harold already knew what was troubling her. "Oh, Marian," he said ruefully. Taking her hands in his, he lifted them to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. Then he turned her hands over in his and bestowed the same affection in the center of her upturned palms. From there, he trailed his mouth to her wrists.

Under the steadying influence of her husband's gentle, almost reverent, ministrations, Marian found the courage to speak. "I hope I didn't disappoint you… or that you think any less of me. This is all very new territory for me, Harold… "

Harold pulled her into his arms. "I know that, darling," he said tenderly, "which is why I need to tell you something I should have told you earlier." Gazing at her with serious eyes, he said, "I have dreamed of you loving me this way for a long time. But I never introduced it, like I introduced other things, because I wanted to leave that decision entirely up to you. If and when you did realize you wanted to engage in the act, I wanted you to offer it to me out of love, not obligation." He paused. "If I seemed reticent earlier it was because I didn't expect this from you so soon. And in light of what happened earlier, I have to admit I can't help wondering if you didn't feel the slightest sense of duty, after all."

Marian bowed her head. "Perhaps I did," she allowed. "But if I did, it was only because I wanted to show you how much I love you, as you've shown me these past few months." She looked up and gazed at her husband with steady, honest eyes. "And I have been thinking of this for awhile – ever since the night of our snowball fight last month," she confessed. "When I first came across mention of the act in the books I read to prepare for the physical realities of marriage, it wasn't something I thought of with anything but revulsion. As much as I longed for you, I was already nervous enough about our wedding night; I could barely fathom regular lovemaking as erotic, let alone anything else. But when you loved me that way, the night of our snowball fight and subsequent nights, I discovered it wasn't a selfishly wanton act – it could be one of the most unselfish, tender demonstrations of love between a husband and wife. After I realized that, I longed to reciprocate." Marian swallowed nervously. "Yet I hesitated because I wondered if I would be able to live up to your expectations; after all, you are a man of some experience – "

Harold tightened his arms around her. "Marian, I never expected you to be anything but the most genuine and generous of lovers – in short, to be yourself," he said earnestly. "If anything, you've surpassed my expectations; I have never experienced with anyone else the delights I've shared with you." Harold leaned in and lightly kissed her lips. "Tonight was wonderful, Marian – everything I'd been dreaming of, and more." He kissed her again, gently at first, and then with passionate urgency as she melted into his embrace.

Soon enough, Marian found herself swept up in Harold's arms, and he ushered her back to their bed. Normally, she would have relaxed and let her husband take the lead but, emboldened by his declarations, she found the sash of his robe while he was busy unbuttoning the fastenings on her nightgown. As his warm palm slid beneath the fabric to cover her breast, her hand slipped behind his robe, and as she sighed at his touch she was delighted to hear him moan at hers. It wasn't long before Harold's hand began to drift lower, making her shiver as he stroked her bare skin. Eagerly anticipating his destination, Marian spread her legs wider – only to be jolted out of her pleasant haze when Harold's hand closed over hers, arresting her ministrations.

Her eyes flew open. "What is it, darling?"

Harold gave her a tender, reassuring smile. "Marian, you've done more than enough for me for one evening." He lowered his head to her lap. "It's high time for me to reciprocate… "

Marian's laughing protests trailed off into delighted gasps as she joyfully welcomed her husband's amorous advances.


End file.
